


Gift-Giving

by LieutenantSaavik



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Multi, christmas shopping!, ft. everyone's favorite winter soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantSaavik/pseuds/LieutenantSaavik
Summary: Written for an All Caps fic swap!!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sororising](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sororising/gifts).



> From an All-Caps fic swap!!

The ability to _give_ , the simple joy of committing an act of kindness, is wonderful. It never fails to astound Bucky how, when he does something selfless, something virtuous, something good, all the terrible years seem to shift sideways in his mind. They’re still there, and of course they’ll never go away, but when he’s focused, when he’s _caring_ , they’re not the first thought back in his head when he blinks dissociation away.

They come back in full force often, and Bucky knows that. But good deeds help the world, and Bucky’s determined to do more good than bad by the time he dies. It’s a private resolution, something he hasn’t even told Steve, but it’s strong, and it sits at the base of his stomach, replacing the guilt that used to boil there. It’s a warm, rosy glow instead of a sickly green mush. Determination to change things. Not useless regret.

Sometimes, ambitious goals start tiny. So today, Bucky’s going shopping for Christmas presents for Sam and Steve.

 

New running shoes for Sam is a must. Bucky’s seen the ones he wears, and, though he assumes they were once white, they’ve now faded to a somewhat dirty grey. Bits of the laces are frayed, and it looks like the sole is starting to separate from the rest of the shoe. Once, when Sam came over, Bucky checked the size of his shoes. 11, an easy number to remember.

Every gift Bucky has decided on was thought through ahead of time, and he even planned to encourage Steve and Sam to go bowling or something together so that he’d have some time to shop. So now he’s strolling through a Sports Authority in a jacket rather than a hoodie and blue jeans with his hair pulled back, so he’s no longer rocking the sort-of ‘hobo aesthetic’ the world now associates with him. Green contacts complete the ensemble. Of course his hands have gloves, too; it will be a long while until he feels safe enough to go out without them.

Not because anyone could hurt him, of course, but because if someone tried to, recognizing him, he doesn’t know how much he’d break them trying to defend himself. So gloves it is. Besides, it’s cold.

A pair of shoes catches his eye. They’re dark grey and black, with white and orange stripes, the colors associated with the Falcon. Perfect.

They’re a brand he’s often seen but isn’t all that great at identifying. A lot of the flashiness and commercialism of the modern world is just noise to him, so he often tunes it out, and he figures that brand doesn’t matter so much as quality. So to make sure the shoes are good, he tries them on himself. They almost fit and are just a little bit too big, but the soles seem to be just the right balance between cushiony and firm. They’re springy, too, seeming like the type of shoes you could go flying in, if humans could fly. So he buys them, leaving the store unrecognized. Not because he’s all that fantastic at disguises, but because he’s smiling, and facial expressions, stances, and eyes are what really make a person who they are. His green contacts help, but -- and this depresses even him -- he’s sure that one of the main reasons nobody recognizes him is because he’s smiling, and for almost seventy years, he didn’t truly smile once.

 

He pays for the shoes in cash and puts the box in his car. On to the gifts for Steve, and he knows right where to go.

 

It’s a shop that seems like it’s hiding, as if it were playing tag with the other music stores sometime in the 1930s and accidentally slipped through a timeloop into the present-day and never found another way back again. It’s at the very end of Elmwood strip mall, easily the smallest property there and easily the least-frequented. But it has record players, and Bucky knows what Steve would probably want most of all. His old gramophone broke a couple weeks back, and he never replaced it, though it was the first thing he bought when he got out of the ice -- a little piece of home. But now it’s gone, and Bucky wants -- no, needs -- to give it back to him. It’s something he can’t quite articulate, but maybe it’s because music and its sounds and colors were always so important to him. Steve always reminded him of the sound of the lighter, higher piano notes; small, maybe, but beautiful and golden-yellow. So a gramophone it is, especially because it’s something he can remember, something tangible he can grasp. Records and vinyls and music and the colors that go with them, a piece of home all the way in the 21st century.

A chime dings as he enters the door, a little starburst of silver at the top of the blank canvas at the back of his mind. Mx. Signior, the owner of the small shop, looks up and smiles. “Hello?” they ask.

Bucky smiles at them. “I believe I called about the 1942 record player you had?”

“Ah! That, you did.” They snaps their fingers and come out from behind their desk to shake Bucky’s hand. “Nice to meet you in person, Jakab Barna.”

Bucky smiles and shakes their hand. “Would you like a vinyl to go with the purchase, or just take the player?” Signior asks.

Bucky hadn’t considered getting Steve a vinyl, too, but it seems like a good idea. “What do you have?” he asks. “Anything from the 1930s?”

“That might be a bit too far back,” they laugh. “I think I have something Henry James, though. I think that’s… 1947?” They bustle back to the far corners of their store, where vinyls are stored like books in cluttered, dusty shelves. Bucky waits patiently by the door, disappointed they don’t have any records from when he was around, but happy nonetheless with something old.

“Ah. Well, this is a single, but it’s the oldest one we have. _It’s Been A Long, Long Time_ , by Henry James and his Orchestra.”

“What year?” Bucky still hopes.

“1945.”

Bucky sighs. Too late. Still, the name sounds promising. “I’ll take it.”

“Your total will be $112.” Mx. Signior recalculates in their head and then smiles. “112.”

Bucky freezes for a moment, again (the same thing happened with the shoes), before remembering the rampant inflation. Still, 112 is a lot; but that’s to be expected. After all, this is old stuff, and probably uncommon. And this shop -- Bucky realizes he doesn’t even know the name -- must not make much money. So he reaches into his wallet and pulls out the cash (credit cards are confusing and he still doesn’t want to think about all the data that must be crammed into that one black stripe; besides, he’s paranoid that some hacker will take all his money).

Signior takes the money and counts it out, confirming the amount. Then they dive behind their desk and pull out a massive box. “Here’s your gramophone!” they say with cheer uncommonly found in older people.

Bucky gives another smile and takes it, lifting it easily. Signior places the record atop it. “Have fun listening, Mr. Barna -- or Barnes, isn’t it?”

Bucky freezes and gives them a look like a frightened animal, almost dropping the box and vinyl. Signior shakes their head, waving a hand vaguely in Bucky’s direction. “Don’t worry, Mr. Barnes. Your secret is safe here. Besides, nobody would believe a batty elder running a vinyls and record players shop that the Winter Soldier came into their business and bought a gramophone, now would they?”

“Please don’t call me the Winter Soldier,” Bucky says quietly.

Signior’s face changes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I understand that’s how most people see me.” Bucky shrugs. “And who knows? Maybe some of them might believe you if you told them I came by.”

“We’ll see.” Signior sends Bucky another somewhat-pitying look. “Well, enjoy your music. And tell Captain America and Falcon and Black Widow hi for me, if you can. And the Scarlet Witch, if you see her. My grandson is a big fan.”

Bucky smiles. “Will do. And thank you for this.” He indicates the store with his chin, since his hands are full. “To me… it means a lot that some things stay the same.”

“Me, too,” Signior says, a faintly sad half-smile on their face. “Me, too, Mr. Barnes.”  


Bucky leaves the store, the gramophone heavy but his heart light. It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas.


End file.
